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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868876">Thunderstorm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedropstories/pseuds/onedropstories'>onedropstories</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Boys In Love, Clay | Dream is Called Clay (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream is So Whipped (Video Blogging RPF), College, Hurt Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), M/M, Minecraft, Not Canon Compliant, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Technoblade is Bad at Feelings (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Trauma, build up romance, but only sometimes, fight me, kinda out of character im sorry, lol that is not his real name in this fic, lol this fic is going to hurt RIP, ranboo is a good brother, traumatized technoblade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:41:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868876</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onedropstories/pseuds/onedropstories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU-DreamSMP</p>
<p>The inevitable college-fic, but Techno (which isn't his real name) is trying to recover from a broken past. It's the one where he meets Dream and they fall in love, but you can't love someone else without loving yourself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo &amp; Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Thunderstorm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>…</em>
  <em>
    <span>if you asked me a year ago how I thought my life would be, I would have told you something entirely different than what has happened. It took twelve months for me to fall in love, rekindle broken relationships, and start to be who I really am, and honestly, I couldn’t be happier. So, as I’m writing down my story for you to read, with each page turn and new chapter, I hope you’re learning right alongside me.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Rain brings comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the sky cries, Techno relishes the sound of droplets pittering against his window, fogging up the glass as the sticky, humid air mixes with the coolness of the water streams that slide down it. His hair gets wet when he goes outside, but it’s okay, because it grounds him, brings him back to reality. Rain has always been a happy memory for him. Whenever he got hurt as a child, the clouds began to darken and the rain would come and crash down on houses and streets in blurry sheets. It was like Mother Nature was protesting his hurt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s raining today. Techno finds himself sitting in front of his window, seated in his favorite chair, the one he got as a goodbye gift from Phil (that man always knows what to buy his kid). A blanket is draped across his lap, it’s fuzziness bringing a warmth that isn’t usually there to his clothed body. Wire-framed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, and whenever they begin to slide, he scrunches his face, content with how they always find their place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s been thinking for a while. Thoughts of his traumatic past flitter through his mind in between memories of days in the sun with Phil (gods, Phil; what a lovely man). He’s been in his own little world, unresponsive to the reality around him, senses only focused on the pittering of the rain. He’s floating through the endless abyss-the door creaks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno draws his attention from the window to see his roommate and little-brother, Ranboo, shuffling into their shared apartment. His split-dyed hair is soaked with sweet rain and his clothes are drenched, and as he stumbles into the kitchen with his arms full of grocery bags, a trail of water rests on the wooden floor in his wake. Techno, never one to leave a brother hanging, stands, his blanket falling to the floor, and makes his way towards the small kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finds Ranboo leaning over the granite countertop, huffing and puffing in a desperate attempt to regain his lost breath. He can’t help the lazy laugh that leaves his lips, catching the attention of the eighteen-year-old in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need help?” he asks, voice high-pitched, full of amusement and contained laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo glares, heterochromatic eyes narrowed into slits. “Screw you,” he responds. He turns back to the multitude of reusable grocery bags thrown haphazardly onto the counter, eyes lingering on the bag of carrots sitting cautiously on the edge. He reaches out, pushing it away from an impending fall. “Help me put it away?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Techno pretends to think, relishing in annoying his brother. “Sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two fall into a comfortable quiet that’s filled with the rustling of fabric-stitched bags and the opening and closing of the fridge. Bags of vegetables and fruits are put away, as well as the cereal boxes and rice. A jar of peanut butter is placed next to the bread box that is filled with fresh wheat bread. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Techno loses himself in his own world as he works, putting the grocery items in their designated spots. He’s back to thinking (he does a lot of thinking, to be honest). A few stray minutes are spent thinking over any due homework, and a few spent reminiscing on his childhood after Phil adopted him. He even spends a minute lost in a memory of when his biological parents weren’t all that bad, of how they were before the-Ranboo taps him on the shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm?” he mumbles, icy-blue hued eyes turning to meet heterochromatic green and brown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo smiles, lips pressed together in the way they always are (he’s insecure about his teeth, but to be honest, they aren’t that bad. Some Invisalign will help just fine). “Are you going to the party tonight?” he asks. When Techno furrows his eyebrows in silent question, he adds, “y’know, the one Wil is hosting? He invited everyone at lunch yesterday, don’t you remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, what time is it again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo hums and turns, hands absentmindedly reaching out to fix a jar of jam that’s slightly out of place. “Seven,” he replies. “So, are you going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Completed homework assignments flitter through Techno’s mind. “Yeah, why not.” He turns towards the oven, eyes squinting to read the digital numbers. “We’ll leave in half an hour.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay!” Ranboo rushes off to his room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pure excitement in Ranboo’s voice brings joy to Techno’s heart. He glances at the oven once more before turning on his heel, heading towards his own bedroom. On his way out, he flips the lightswitch, fingers lingering against the slight bump in the wall, before he allows his feet to guide him down the hall. His door is already cracked, and with a simple push of his foot, he enters, pointer finger flipping the light on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sweet scent of vanilla and tangerine welcomes him (thank the gods he invested in that candle). The aroma is enough to make him break into a satisfied grin. Socked-feet pad across soft carpet and Techno finds himself in front of his dresser, opening the top drawer where his shirts are neatly folded and sorted by season and color. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nimble fingers sift through spring sweaters, the ombre of colors satisfying the eye. With a little bit of digging, soft hands find a very-loved and worn red hoodie, and it’s pulled from its place in the stack. Techno stands back, letting the fabric fall, watching with sweet content as it unfolds from it’s previously precise creases. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping it over his head is almost second-nature. The fabric is familiar on his skin and it brings happy memories filled with hot cocoa and snow days spent sledding down Phil’s driveway. It’s soft on his skin and smells like vanilla, and once again, he’s thankful for his candle. Honestly, Techno doesn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have the obscene amount of vanilla and tangerine candles that he does; it’s an addiction, really, he has at least ten, if not more hidden around the apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The following half hour flies by in a flurry of thoughts and rehearsed actions. Techno brushes his teeth and pulls his shoulder-length pink hair into a messy bun. Black sweatpants are slid onto his legs and his feet are stuffed into worn red Converse. The knick-knacks that are spread around his bedroom are moved and fixed into place. He follows his routine, step by step, satisfying the bubbles in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranboo, are you ready to go?” he calls from the living room, one arm through the sleeve of his coat. A muffled, “Yeah, I’m coming!” is heard from down the hall. Techno pushes his other arm through his sleeve just as his brother comes barreling out of his room, still in the process of pulling a purple shirt over his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m ready,” the eighteen year old declares. One of his shoes is untied. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay, are you drivin’ or am I?” It’s a simple question that they both know the answer to, but it never hurts to ask. When Ranboo gives him a shy glance and pulls his shoulders to his ears, Techno shakes his head and grabs his keys from the hook. “Alright, let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Picking up a hasty walk, the two brothers make it to the parking garage. The car unlocks, Ranboo slides energetically into the passenger seat and Techno finds himself in front of the wheel, turning the key in the ignition and putting his car in reverse. Sooner rather than later, they’re on the road, a quiet symphonic orchestra piece playing a soft tune through the speakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With memorized turns and lights, the calmness causes Techno to escape to his own world. The thumping of large raindrops against the roof and hood of the car repeats a steady beat that makes the windshield wipers sing. Wind blows outside the warm vehicle, and Techno finds himself blinking every time a leaf or twig lands on his car, only to be blown away again once more, swimming through the sky like an endless ocean.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tech, we’re here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The car stopped a few minutes ago, placed in park. Techno blinks, eyelids lazy, and he turns towards Ranboo, who is trying his best to mask his underlying concern with giddy excitement. He offers a smile and unlocks the car, pulling off his seatbelt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get goin’ before the rain picks up,” he says, pulling his hood over his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo and him do exactly that, rushing towards the house (Wilbur lived off campus in a house his parents bought. He lives with his two brothers, Tommy and Tubbo). Techno can’t help the smile that forms on his lips as rain pelts his shoulders, but what can he say; he loves the rain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once under the overhang, Ranboo raises a hand and knocks on the hard wooden door. Footsteps can be heard from inside, and seconds later, the door swings open to reveal Wilbur. A pointed party hat is secured atop his mop of curly brown hair, and he wears a gleeful smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Techno! Ranboo!” he exclaims, motioning them inside. “It’s about time you two got here!” A pat on both their backs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Heh, thanks for the invite, Wil,” Techno speaks. “Sucky day though, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You could say that again!” Wilbur is way too energetic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two brothers follow their friend inside. Footsteps layer on footsteps over the blaring of hip-hop music playing from a speaker somewhere in the house. The aroma of salsa and seltzer fills Techno’s nose and he lets out a breath, nose twitching. He already wanted to go home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>White Claws</span>
  <span> in the fridge, snacks in the kitchen, you know the drill,” Wilbur states with a wave of his hands. The doorbell rings. “Everyone is hanging in the living room, I’ll meet you guys in there soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranboo gives the college junior a thankful, tight-lipped smile and grabs Techno by his sleeve, tugging him along the hallway. They walk under an archway and emerge into the living room to see all their friends lounging around, alcoholic seltzers in their hands and body parts tangled in a mix of commotion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The party runs smoothly, as far as Techno can tell. The people around him are at least five cans deep in alcoholic beverages, including his little brother. However, he stays true to the promise he made when he was five; he was going to stay sober. He didn’t want to turn out like-shouting and laughing filled his ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand tugged on his sweatshirt. “C’mon, Techno! Loosen up, come and dance!” Slurred words; Sapnap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m good right here, thanks, though.” It was the truth; Techno really was happy leaning up against the doorframe. It gave him a bird’s eye view, and since he didn’t like closed, packed spaces, his own little bubble was very much appreciated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sapnap tugged on his sleeve again, and by now, he was basically leaning on the older male. “Techno,” he drawls, eyelids fluttering drunkenly. “Come dance with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sap, you have a boyfriend, go dance with him,” the pinkette chastises, giving the raven-haired male a playful shove. “Karl loves dancing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The nineteen-year-old’s eyes light up at the mention of his boyfriend. “Karl!” he cheers, lips curling into a big smile. He turns, eyes searching for the boy in question. “Karl!” He stumbles off towards the brunet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere in the commotion, Tommy’s voice rings out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Tubbo, your name is bloody Toby! Don’t even try to make fun of my name!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It makes Techno still, and his cheeks burn and his heart rate skyrockets- he can’t breathe. The stench of cigarette smoke is filling his nose and he’s choking on God-knows-what. Pushing himself off the wall, he stumbles out of the room and down the hallway, towards the back porch. Hands connect with clear glass and he pushes the door open in a desperate shove, nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes outside. Rain immediately begins to pelt his head and shoulders and he gasps for breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blinking hard, he tries to clear the tears away that gathered in his eyes. They run down his cheeks, salt mixing with sweet rain, and he grips the railing, letting out a short breath through his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Tobias.</span>
  </em>
</p>
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